Contact Sport
A ficlet written for Yin's Secret prompt. Too long to fit in a comment, so I'm posting and linking. :-)
Contact Sport
Sheppard liked to manhandle him, Rodney noticed. He slapped him on the head, yanked him forward by the tac vest, grabbed his arm and pulled him along when necessary and sometimes - most of the time, Rodney thought with a sniff - when it wasn't.
*
McKay was always poking him, John thought, making a face to himself. Sharp, pokey jabs in the chest, a booted toe stuck into his calf, bruise-forming digs in the bicep to shut John up or induce him to speak (to support whatever McKay's latest theory might happen to be, of course).
*
When Sheppard wasn't pushing Rodney around, he was... hogging all the space. He always squashed in next to Rodney on the couch at movie night, and plopped his tray down next to Rodney's in the mess hall, sitting shoulder to shoulder with him despite aaaacres of empty table space on either side. Sheppard was warm, though, and it had been a long time since the word "boundaries" even fleetingly appeared in Rodney's head, when it came to his team. So he didn't really mind, to be honest. (In fact, he hardly ever even noticed.)
*
Even when McKay's fingers or toes weren't jabbing into some sensitive bit of John's anatomy, he was always just... there. During movie night, John had gotten into the habit of sitting right next to Rodney - at first to subtly egg McKay's rants on, but pretty soon it was just to keep him settled. Rodney's leg was always jiggling, his knee jouncing up and down with nervous energy, and John got used to feeling that barely contained energy beside him. He also got used to pressing the side of his leg gently into McKay's. McKay never appeared to notice, but it did seem to have a calming effect. McKay would start out all fast-talking monologue and jiggling knee, and end up dozing with his shoulder pressed to John's.
*
Rodney was worried that it would be weird, the day after the night they slept together. Sheppard - John - was quieter than usual in the morning briefing, but he didn't look at Rodney any more or any less than he usually did. It seemed like he was sitting a long way away, though - slouching back like he always did, swinging back and forth a little in his rolly chair. They hadn't had breakfast together; they had managed to have sleepy, uncoordinated sex that involved a lot of close-mouthed kissing and increasingly frantic rubbing against each other. But afterward, Sheppard - John - had looked at Rodney's clock and given him one last blurry, cheerful kiss before rolling out of bed and dressing. He'd slipped out the door as Rodney dozed, sticky and happy. And now there John was, across the table, showered and shaved (Rodney thought he probably had stubble burn on his neck from John's rough jaw and cheek, last night, and he shifted a little in his chair) and as put-together as he ever looked, and Rodney felt weird, and... nervous.
*
After the briefing, John had another meeting, this one with Lorne and Martinez and a couple of personnel sergeants. It wasn't time for lunch yet after that, and John thought about going down to the labs, but for some reason the idea made him nervous. Not that he would give anything away - he hadn't this morning, even though it'd been an effort not to stare at Rodney's neck, at the soft pink of his close-shaved skin and the exact spot John had been sucking on when he came, this morning, in Rodney's bed, all over Rodney's belly. (John flushed all over again, a warm wave of heat from his scalp to his toes, tingling so that he shook his hands out, alone in his office, embarrassed and turned on.) And Rodney hadn't given anything away, either, so going to the labs would probably be okay. But McKay was - it was so new. And what if McKay… what if Rodney blushed, or looked shifty? What if John did?
*
Rodney got to the mess hall first. He sat down at a table large enough for the whole team, and Ronon got there next. They grunted at each other (Ronon was possibly Rodney's favorite table partner: not fussy, didn't want to talk, and had messier habits than Rodney, even - perfect) and ate. Teyla came in with John, and Rodney watched furtively as they stood in line together, talking, Teyla resting one hand absently on the swell of her stomach, John gesturing, telling her something she found funny, if the smile was any indication.
Teyla came over first, and sat next to Ronon. Rodney hid a sigh of relief. John was right behind her; his tray clattered to the table and he sat down with a good four inches between his bicep and Rodney's.
Rodney smiled at Teyla (she nodded back and dug in; the pregnancy had definitely improved her conversation-to-food-consumption ratio) and jerked his head sideways at Sheppard in greeting. God, Rodney wondered, when did adolescence end? Would he ever not be a spaz? He resisted the urge to slam his face into his plate, and felt his leg start to bounce nervously under the table.
"Hey," Sheppard - John - said, shifting toward him. Leaning, even.
Rodney stuffed a bite of mashed potatoes into his mouth and looked at John. "Mm," Rodney mumbled.
"Morning go okay?" John asked, and under the table, his warm, large hand landed on Rodney's frenetically jiggling knee.
"Mm." Rodney swallowed hastily and coughed into one fist. "Yes." He stilled his leg; let his knee fall outward to press against John's knee. "It was. Definitely better than usual."
"Cool," John said. He smiled, and left his hand where it was. His thumb pressed into Rodney's knee for an instant.
Rodney smiled, too, and ate his lunch like that, pressed shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh against John.
~ end ~
Contact Sport
Sheppard liked to manhandle him, Rodney noticed. He slapped him on the head, yanked him forward by the tac vest, grabbed his arm and pulled him along when necessary and sometimes - most of the time, Rodney thought with a sniff - when it wasn't.
*
McKay was always poking him, John thought, making a face to himself. Sharp, pokey jabs in the chest, a booted toe stuck into his calf, bruise-forming digs in the bicep to shut John up or induce him to speak (to support whatever McKay's latest theory might happen to be, of course).
*
When Sheppard wasn't pushing Rodney around, he was... hogging all the space. He always squashed in next to Rodney on the couch at movie night, and plopped his tray down next to Rodney's in the mess hall, sitting shoulder to shoulder with him despite aaaacres of empty table space on either side. Sheppard was warm, though, and it had been a long time since the word "boundaries" even fleetingly appeared in Rodney's head, when it came to his team. So he didn't really mind, to be honest. (In fact, he hardly ever even noticed.)
*
Even when McKay's fingers or toes weren't jabbing into some sensitive bit of John's anatomy, he was always just... there. During movie night, John had gotten into the habit of sitting right next to Rodney - at first to subtly egg McKay's rants on, but pretty soon it was just to keep him settled. Rodney's leg was always jiggling, his knee jouncing up and down with nervous energy, and John got used to feeling that barely contained energy beside him. He also got used to pressing the side of his leg gently into McKay's. McKay never appeared to notice, but it did seem to have a calming effect. McKay would start out all fast-talking monologue and jiggling knee, and end up dozing with his shoulder pressed to John's.
*
Rodney was worried that it would be weird, the day after the night they slept together. Sheppard - John - was quieter than usual in the morning briefing, but he didn't look at Rodney any more or any less than he usually did. It seemed like he was sitting a long way away, though - slouching back like he always did, swinging back and forth a little in his rolly chair. They hadn't had breakfast together; they had managed to have sleepy, uncoordinated sex that involved a lot of close-mouthed kissing and increasingly frantic rubbing against each other. But afterward, Sheppard - John - had looked at Rodney's clock and given him one last blurry, cheerful kiss before rolling out of bed and dressing. He'd slipped out the door as Rodney dozed, sticky and happy. And now there John was, across the table, showered and shaved (Rodney thought he probably had stubble burn on his neck from John's rough jaw and cheek, last night, and he shifted a little in his chair) and as put-together as he ever looked, and Rodney felt weird, and... nervous.
*
After the briefing, John had another meeting, this one with Lorne and Martinez and a couple of personnel sergeants. It wasn't time for lunch yet after that, and John thought about going down to the labs, but for some reason the idea made him nervous. Not that he would give anything away - he hadn't this morning, even though it'd been an effort not to stare at Rodney's neck, at the soft pink of his close-shaved skin and the exact spot John had been sucking on when he came, this morning, in Rodney's bed, all over Rodney's belly. (John flushed all over again, a warm wave of heat from his scalp to his toes, tingling so that he shook his hands out, alone in his office, embarrassed and turned on.) And Rodney hadn't given anything away, either, so going to the labs would probably be okay. But McKay was - it was so new. And what if McKay… what if Rodney blushed, or looked shifty? What if John did?
*
Rodney got to the mess hall first. He sat down at a table large enough for the whole team, and Ronon got there next. They grunted at each other (Ronon was possibly Rodney's favorite table partner: not fussy, didn't want to talk, and had messier habits than Rodney, even - perfect) and ate. Teyla came in with John, and Rodney watched furtively as they stood in line together, talking, Teyla resting one hand absently on the swell of her stomach, John gesturing, telling her something she found funny, if the smile was any indication.
Teyla came over first, and sat next to Ronon. Rodney hid a sigh of relief. John was right behind her; his tray clattered to the table and he sat down with a good four inches between his bicep and Rodney's.
Rodney smiled at Teyla (she nodded back and dug in; the pregnancy had definitely improved her conversation-to-food-consumption ratio) and jerked his head sideways at Sheppard in greeting. God, Rodney wondered, when did adolescence end? Would he ever not be a spaz? He resisted the urge to slam his face into his plate, and felt his leg start to bounce nervously under the table.
"Hey," Sheppard - John - said, shifting toward him. Leaning, even.
Rodney stuffed a bite of mashed potatoes into his mouth and looked at John. "Mm," Rodney mumbled.
"Morning go okay?" John asked, and under the table, his warm, large hand landed on Rodney's frenetically jiggling knee.
"Mm." Rodney swallowed hastily and coughed into one fist. "Yes." He stilled his leg; let his knee fall outward to press against John's knee. "It was. Definitely better than usual."
"Cool," John said. He smiled, and left his hand where it was. His thumb pressed into Rodney's knee for an instant.
Rodney smiled, too, and ate his lunch like that, pressed shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh against John.
~ end ~